


we are caged in simulations

by sunboy



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunboy/pseuds/sunboy
Summary: It's summer and Subin's struggling with the heat, the need to get a part-time job when the owner of the local flower shop won't even let him get inside the store, and the chaos that the return of Han Seungwoo stirs in the quiet neighborhood where the two of them grew up together—up until the moment Seungwoo left, seemingly to never come back.
Relationships: Han Seungwoo/Jung Subin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**01.**

"...hyung."

subin falls on the sorry excuse of a bed with a gentle thud, knees hitting the bare mattress, hands feeling the wrinkled old sheets as well as the loose strands of his ripped jeans; some of them are still intact, digging into the skin of his knees and thighs, and he runs his fingers over them just to have something to do.

he tries to shift just enough so that he can be closer to seungwoo, just a tiny bit, not _that_ close—the guitar sitting on seungwoo's lap won't let him get close enough to achieve that.

even though seungwoo looks nothing but small, all curled up in the middle of the mattress, back against the wall with two of subin's pillows cushioning his back, something about him feels big. too big for subin to get close even if the guitar were out of the way. maybe it's seungwoo's age? the years they haven't seen each other weighting too heavily between them? even though they're best friends; childhood friends; neighbors; and all the other titles that should shorten the distance between them... even with such names for their relationship, subin is too scared to reach out his hand and do so much as rest it on seungwoo's knee.

all seungwoo does is hum and strum his guitar. the sound is loud in the quiet room, quiet house. subin bites his lips and taps his fingers against the mattress, searching for the right words.

"hyung," he ends up calling again. seungwoo tears his gaze away from the neck of the guitar and looks at him. seungwoo's eyes are big and sparkle in the darkened room; the black of his hair makes him look younger than he really is, but the heavy bags under his eyes age him decades. "why are you here?"

that's the question, isn't it? the one thing subin's wondered ever since seungwoo showed up on his bedroom window, shoes dirtying the window sill, familiar hands sliding the screen to slip inside and flash subin a smile that, for a moment, managed to bridge the distance between them. three years without seeing each other—even longer without hugging or sharing a hearty laugh, even longer without seungwoo ruffling subin's hair—all of it gone for just that moment. and then the question came back, subin's worries back tenfold, and it won't leave him alone even now, a day later, the two of them sitting on the queen-sized mattress on the floor of seungwoo's room, the two of them acting as if nothing's wrong.

seungwoo blinks at him, one, two, confused. subin can tell he's faking it. "this is my room? why wouldn't i be here."

"you know what i mean."

seungwoo has the gall to keep feigning ignorance.

subin scoffs. "it's been three years, hyung."

three years without hearing a single thing about seungwoo. three years in which subin believed he was hundreds of kilometers away, living the big life in the big city, degree hung on a wall and suit crisp as he worked in a fancy office dozens of floors off the ground. subin spent most of his high-school years believing seungwoo was studying hard to have a good life away from their shitty coastal town, and then he spent most of his college years believing seungwoo had made it and that's why he couldn't be bothered to contact anyone who knew him before moving to seoul.

so how come seungwoo is here, twenty-seven years old with nothing but a guitar and a sleep disorder to show off?

the fact that seungwoo doesn't reply sets off warning bells in subin's brain, who thinks maybe he fucked up by bringing it up so soon, or even at all. what does seungwoo's silence mean? maybe something horrible happened back in seoul and that's why he's back here. maybe he doesn't want to talk about it. maybe subin isn't the kind of person that you tell stuff to, regardless of how close you used to be. maybe that's why they aren't close anymore.

why subin's hand hovers between them, never truly touching seungwoo, never having seungwoo bridge the gap.

that's what he thinks. but then seungwoo, sort of, smiles at him. something that subin reads as _it's okay_ and immediately helps him relax, his hand falling on the mattress without any sound.

"you're in your last year of college, right? you'll graduate soon."

subin frowns at the apparent change of subject, but he feels thankful when seungwoo puts the guitar away; it lets subin move just a tad bit closer. just a tad bit. he doesn't realize he's close enough for seungwoo to touch him until seungwoo does what he does best: catching subin off-guard, one moment lying comfortably on the bed and the next leaning in close, pushing back one of subin's black curls with a gentle smile that reaches his eyes half-way.

seungwoo says something about subin being such a grown-up now, which might explain why seungwoo's touch is different from what subin remembers. it's no hand ruffling his hair, palm pushing against his scalp like you'd pet a really big dog. it's something more gentle. more delicate. the tips of seungwoo's fingers barely brush past subin's ears, tinting them red.

"mom said you're moving out after you graduate." seungwoo pouts. "to america."

"yeah." subin nods, watching seungwoo's hand fall limp by his side. he explains a bit of his plan with practiced ease, used to people oohing and ahhing once they hear he'll go to the other side of the world in maybe a year or two. he talks about the relatives living there; his niece wanting to see him; plus the job opportunities he'd have compared to what would be his future if he stayed in town. "it'll be hard, but my english is good enough and my family thinks it'd be better than taking my chances here. better than rotting in this town."

"subinnie, you know english?"

seungwoo's eyes widen, looking both surprised and impressed. subin just shrugs. "you can do a lot when you have free time."

and he shrugs again, not knowing what else to say. he already sounds bitter enough with just that; he can't elaborate, saying that when seungwoo left for the city and everyone else seemingly followed suit, subin was left with nothing. having no one but himself for years on end. and even when he made new friends, he still had so much free time on his hands—doing something with it seemed only natural. on top of knowing english, he knows how to knit, code, skate, play darts, and even do macramé; he also has some vague knowledge on how to mix cocktails, pick locks, bake sweets, design gardens, and a bit of cryptography. he even got really into morse code for a time. the first thing seungwoo did after slipping inside subin's room was point at his wall, at the dots and dashes painted over his bed (-..- .--- ...- --- | --- .--- .-. -.-- | -..- . .-. ... .--) and ask what it meant.

he guesses he could throw the fact that he's ambidextrous now—bit of a fun fact.

he stays quiet.

seungwoo only hums, nodding along to subin's words. "that's amazing," he says. "i'm really no good with languages. i don't even know how to read music sheets."

"wasn't that a requirement for your classes?"

and now seungwoo is the one shrugging, lips tight as he avoids answering. subin watches him turn to his side, searching for the discarded pack of cigarettes lying by the guitar on the floor. the pack is red and white, a brand subin's seen chan smoke once before, and it's open with only half of its cigarettes left. seungwoo grabs one and places it between his lips, lighting it up with a lighter that is also red, like blood and the closed curtains. he blows the smoke away from subin's face.

it's hard for subin to watch, and yet he can't tear his gaze away. the image of his childhood friend, his best friend, the person who once made subin promise that they would never smoke, always scrunching up his nose at the butts of cigarettes left on the sidewalk. it stays burned behind subin's eyelids, that image. he'll dream about this: how seungwoo holds the smoke for as long as possible before exhaling it through his nose.

how does any of this make sense? even though the seungwoo subin knew hated smoking with a passion, now he looks so relaxed as he grabs the cig between his index and middle finger, getting a nearby fake potted plant to flick the ashes onto.

even though seungwoo would never climb subin's window, always being subin the one sneaking into seungwoo's room whenever he pleased, it was seungwoo who did it yesterday.

even though seungwoo used to tell subin everything, now he stays quiet even when he talks.

that's why subin can't stop thinking about it.

just what happened in the three years seungwoo's been away?

"what were you studying again? fine arts?" changing subject once again, seungwoo loudly pops his back and then stands up, stepping around his guitar to go to the shelves lining up one of the walls. things like books—novels, encyclopedias, even cooking guides and the rare photobook hidden among the rest—take up nearly half of it, but seungwoo approaches a shelf mostly filled with vinyls, figurines, souvenirs, and such. the thing he pulls out from a pile of papers looks like a simple, gray sketchbook. "mom told me you even won first place at a competition?"

"ah, no, that's—"

it's embarrassing to admit, but subin mentions a competition one of his college friends forced him to enter. he doesn't get too much into it, mainly just stressing that it's not that much of a big deal.

"i... i'm not that good. seriously."

the sketchbook is gently placed in his hands, seungwoo looking at him with eyes that sparkle with warmth. he scolds, "that's not something a first-place winner should be saying." then he smiles. "let me see how good you are. please?"

he can't say no. not with seungwoo looking at him like that, especially not after spending years drawing seungwoo from memory, so many of subin's own sketchbooks filled with his friend's face. so subin nods mutedly, and soon enough he finds himself moving his hand over old, slightly yellowed pages, so many of them filled not with doodles but with seungwoo's handwriting. songwriting. lyrics that seungwoo must have written ages ago. subin glances over a few before he looks for a blank page and starts sketching his neighbor with a mechanical pencil that he finds somewhere in the room. his movements are quick, lead barely gracing the paper, drafting the figure of seungwoo back against the wall sitting with the guitar on his lap, lit cigarette between his lips, playing a nameless song that fills the room and drowns the sound of subin drawing.

it's easy for subin to lose himself in the drawing. it's what he tends to do; the reason he decided to pursue it as a career despite his family being initially against it. he makes sure to take notice of all the small details, committing them to memory before capturing them in the sketch, from the couple of new holes in seungwoo's ears, to the braided bracelet tied around his left wrist, to something as insignificant as the fact that his white socks have two blue lines on the cuff.

the only thing subin doesn't add to the sketch are the bags under seungwoo's eyes, such a stark contrast between the old seungwoo alive in his memories and this new seungwoo, sitting right in front of him, playing mindless tunes that do nothing to drown the sound of subin's beating heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**02.**

seungwoo's hair is blue.

it takes subin completely by surprise. he has to take a good few seconds just squinting at seungwoo's figure standing by the window, the sun lighting his black hair the most electrifying shade of blue. it makes him wonder if he's still dreaming, somehow. seungwoo's hair looked black from subin's window after the sun had set and he found a hand knowing on the glass, nearly giving him a heart attack; it looked... not black, but definitely not blue, while subin sketched him, everything in the room tinted red with the help of the strong summer sun shining through the crimson curtains.

subin went to sleep—just a quick nap at seungwoo's insistence, something unavoidable after seungwoo saw him yawn time and time again after finishing the sketch, subin lying on the mattress while seungwoo played songs and made him guess their names—and dreamed of seungwoo with black hair, black eyes, black nails, and cigarettes the color of fresh blood.

and then he woke up. he wakes up, head resting on the pillows he brought from his own bed because seungwoo got rid of his a long time ago, and he looks for seungwoo; he finds him looking out the window that faces the street. seungwoo is there, curtains cast aside, looking out into the town with a faraway expression on his face. and it takes subin a few seconds to notice it, the afternoon sun not only blinding him momentarily but also shining on seungwoo's profile, lighting his black hair the most gorgeous shade of blue.

it leaves subin kind of breathless.

but the truth is, he _is_ holding his breath, and so he exhales slowly, making sure not to make too much noise as he sits up. he feels a little lightheaded as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, but he ignores it, determined to enjoy this moment to the fullest; that is, simply sitting back, staring at seungwoo, committing the image to memory.

at some point time starts feeling nonexistent in the small room. subin feels it like you feel the waves of the ocean pulling back the water right before crashing onto you. not even the birds chirp outside; not a single car drives by the street. all that exists is seungwoo and the sound of the leaves brustling outside, shaken gently by the wind that blows softly, pushing away seungwoo's bangs from his face as if it were doing it with an invisible hand, fingertips made of air careful as they pick and move and let go of blue strands. seungwoo looks the most at peace he's looked since yesterday, his dark brown eyes shining in the sun, his hands resting on the window sill and twitching with a restless tic. one of them goes up to his lips to—

oh. he's smoking again.

subin frowns, suddenly catching the smell of mint and smoke in the air.

how many cigarettes seungwoo went through as he waited for subin to wake up is anyone's guess.

"you said," subin croaks out, stopping when his throat does a weird thing. seungwoo turns towards the sound of his hoarse voice and subin hurries to continue, clearing his throat. "you said smoking was bad for your voice. that they didn't allow it."

seungwoo said that such a long time ago, even longer than some mere three years. back in 2013, when seungwoo was taking a year off just to study for entrance exams. he told 14-year-old subin about how smoking was prohibited for singers at the university he was aiming for after subin mentioned how one of his classmates always reeked of smoke and none of the teachers knew what to do, since they never found any cigarettes on her. that was the first time subin heard of seungwoo's dream: to become a singer.

it was so easy to read seungwoo, back then. to know exactly what he was feeling—a crucial skill to have since seungwoo's never been keen on talking about his feelings, always preferring to listen rather than talk. seungwoo's face is now unreadable, or maybe subin's just become unable to tell what goes on in seungwoo's mind, losing that skill after not putting it into use for years at a time.

but subin still remembers the smile on seungwoo's face as he admitted that he was practicing hard at singing and studying to be accepted in his dream music program. how seungwoo's eyes lit up as he talked about it with so much excitement and hope in his voice. how warm subin felt, seeing his hyung so happy, genuinely wanting to cheer for seungwoo even if it meant he would live far away. subin happily encouraged seungwoo to pursue his dream even if it meant leaving subin and chan and everything else behind.

and what came out of it? seungwoo is back here again.

"it _is_ bad," seungwoo says after a beat, flicking off the ash in one of the dented soda cans lining up the window, makeshift ashtrays everywhere. "remember that rule i told you about? how vocal majors were prohibited from smoking? turns out everyone did it anyway. even the professors did it; that's why they couldn't say anything about it."

"so because everyone did it, you also started smoking?"

"no." seungwoo laughs a little, just a puff of laughter around the butt of the cigarette. "i didn't even pick it up until after i got out. i'm just saying."

"still, you shouldn't smoke, hyung."

subin watches as seungwoo's expression slowly shifts, the near sarcastic smile on his face disappearing as his brow furrows. seungwoo huffs, looking like he wants to say something but thinking better of it. the cigarette ends up pressed against the corner of the window sill and then discarded inside the empty can.

he says, "sorry, you're right," and that's that.

it leaves a bad taste in subin's mouth, but seungwoo takes small steps towards the mattress and falls on his knees, much like how subin did earlier, hitting the floor instead. soon all subin can think about is seungwoo's cold hands on his face. seungwoo's hands which reek of smoke just like how his classmate did years ago. "should we have lunch? it's still early enough." seungwoo smiles before he tries to comb subin's mess of a hair with his fingers. subin nods in between painful tugs as seungwoo attempts to untangle the knots in his curls.

seungwoo carries a sudden, easy smile as he says something else, something about his mom telling him about what a great cook subin became, unashamedly trying to prompt subin into making pancakes for lunch.

and subin nods again.

seungwoo's hair is blue and his hands are ice cold. subin fears that if he were to look at them, he'd see purple fingertips and rotten black nails, so all he does is keep his eyes on seungwoo, on his bright blue hair, and nod to everything seungwoo says.

but seungwoo stops asking things at some point, and all the two of them do is stare at each other; seungwoo smiling; subin trying his best not to look at seungwoo's hands. it must be just a couple of seconds in which they say nothing, but seconds seem like minutes and minutes seem like hours and hours seem like nothing at all in that strange room where time flows like the ocean waves.

they'll eventually need to move to the kitchen if their late breakfast-for-lunch is really going to be a thing, but with all the grogginess making his body too heavy to move and seungwoo's gaze practically freezing him in place, subin almost doesn't feel like leaving the bed at all. it's tempting to miss lunch, miss dinner, miss everything—just stay there, seungwoo holding his face between gentle ( _cold_ ) hands, close enough for him to memorize every single detail that the years erased from his memory, things to add to his next drawing.

the smell of smoke coming from seungwoo's hands is too much, though. subin scrunches up his nose at it, trying his best not to sneeze—and fails.

seungwoo laughs, the moment over, but time moves again at the sound of seungwoo's laughter. the ocean parts for him. "did you know? you sound like a kitten when you sneeze. bless you, by the way."

subin grunts a thanks that doesn't even sound like a word, slowly detaching himself from his neighbor to attempt once more to rub the sleep out of his eyes. it's their cue to actually leave the room, pancakes waiting for them downstairs. seungwoo stands up with a bright smile and extends his hand for subin to take.

subin can't say that he grabs i̛̊̽̅͞t̛͌͊͌̓


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** graphic description of injuries, blood

**03.**

"he's back."

he blurts out the words before thinking better of it, knowing this is not the place nor the time, but what else can he do? his house feels more and more suffocating with each passing day, and as much as he'd like to stay the whole day at seungwoo's house, the truth is, subin also feels uncomfortable there. it's not so much lying on seungwoo's mattress and complaining about the weather as it is the room itself; something about it gets under subin's skin, something that he could never explain to seungwoo even if he tried. not the waves of the ocean but something older and colder and less merciful.

has it been a day or a week since subin's started climbing the tree between their windows again, slipping from his room into seungwoo's to spend the day there? as if life stopped the moment seungwoo showed up, subin's sense of time is skewed and he has no idea which one it is.

all he knows is that back home, his mom threw a fit after learning about seungwoo being back in town. she told subin not to see him. subin can't go to his house, nor can he go back to seungwoo's.

even though all he wants to do is lie somewhere with his head on seungwoo's lap, smiling as seungwoo lists all the reasons why subin is basically a really big cat—opposed to subin's own idea that seungwoo sees him as a dog he can abandon knowing full well it will sit by the door and wait for him all day long—it's not like he can do that now. so subin does the next best thing he can think of.

he changes his clothes for ones that don't smell of smoke and goes to yeonghye's flower shop.

he hides at the back, pacing back and forth between a wall dedicated solely to gardening supplies and a long shelf unit several centimeters taller than him lined with all sorts of flowers. holding his phone to his ear, subin hears the confusion clear in sejun's voice.

"what? subin, i'm in the middle of something right now—"

"hyung, he's back. seungwoo is back."

the line goes silent for several minutes, subin spending the time gnawing at the side of his thumb until the skin looks raw and about to bleed. it's odd for sejun to stay quiet for so long. maybe calling him isn't the best idea; he doesn't even know seungwoo personally. subin and sejun became friends long after seungwoo skipped town. subin never even planned to tell sejun about the person that used to live next door, but one day sejun asked and subin found himself spilling everything until the words dried out and he stopped feeling his tongue. that must have been some four or five years ago, when sejun returned from his military service and the two of them had the chance to really become close friends.

so maybe calling sejun to talk about seungwoo isn't the best thing subin could be doing right now, but what else is there to do? there's no one else to call. chan certainly wouldn't pick up.

subin hisses after he absentmindedly bits his thumb again.

it seems to do the trick, getting sejun to respond after seemingly zoning out for a while. sejun barks, "stop that," and gets subin to make a fist with his hand, hiding his thumb inside of it to avoid biting at it again.

"why is he back?" subin continues venting after sejun fails to add anything else, tone low in case there's someone else in the store to eavesdrop on his conversation. surely the owner must be around; that woman wouldn't leave the place unattended during business hours. "he moved away when i was still in middle school and we just let him because that's what he wanted to do and we all knew he'd make it big as a singer, but then he completely cut us off from his life? then he shows up, like, four years later, stays here a week, and then drops off the face of the earth for another three years?"

he exhales, chest heavy just thinking about that time. he tries really hard not to bite his thumb again, squeezing his hand until he feels the blood pump through the finger, a tingling sensation letting him know it's close to numbing completely.

"hell, even that week he stayed here, he barely even talked to me or his family, and you know how close we used to be with him and heochan. i told you that. you _know_. but then he— he moves to seoul and suddenly we don't exist anymore, but now he comes back acting as if nothing happened? what the fuck, hyung."

the bad taste that subin feels in his mouth is worse than the taste of tobacco you can pick from the air in seungwoo's room. like a mix of blood and burnt plastic. indeed, what the fuck.

"when did he come back?"

"a week ago." subin sighs. "or— i don't fucking know, maybe he's been here for longer. i only learned a few days ago when he randomly showed up in my bedroom and scared the shit out of me."

he sighs again, harsher this time, feeling his breathing speed up slightly. he's entirely too conscious of the way his thumb hurts as he shifts his attention from his phone to the flowers in front of him, unclenching his fist to stroke the small petals of a marigold, attempting to calm himself that way.

"i tried asking but he won't tell me anything, hyung. i don't know what to do."

the worst part is that he can't really blame seungwoo for being this way. if subin really is someone you can't tell things to, then there's no point in moping around, only making people worry about you. seungwoo does a shitty ass job at it, but subin understands why he might not want to talk to him. it just sucks because subin looks at himself in the thin mirrors lining up the columns of the shop, staring blankly at his partial reflection, and he thinks, you stupid bitch. he scoffs at himself, you thought things would stay the same forever? what a fucking idiot.

this is just how life is, isn't it? things change. things _always_ change. but seungwoo's change is a scary one, and subin doesn't want to push too much, because he knows that whatever happened must have been bad for seungwoo to now be like... like this.

so subin looks at his reflection again, seeing the worry in his features underneath the frustration, because he wants to _help_. god, all he wants to do is help. if seungwoo is back, then subin might as well do it. then maybe seungwoo won't leave again. or if he does, then at least he won't come back.

but how can subin help if he doesn't know what's wrong?

he wants to help.

seungwoo doesn't want to talk.

(just why won't seungwoo fucking _talk_ —)

sejun remains silent again, subin practically hearing the cogs turning in his friend's brain, probably racking it for a way to help him. it's a pity that sejun isn't in town at the moment. normally the first thing they would do is meet up at the local cafe; deal with this issue face to face and with some coffee and cake to keep them going. it can't be helped—sejun is in seoul attending a seminar—but subin desperately wants someone by his side to ruffle his hair and tell him things will get better; he's going to figure it out; he always does.

"hey, listen," sejun starts talking right as subin hears footsteps coming his way, "maybe it's because he's at his house. even if it's only you and him, he might not want to talk about his problems knowing his parents are nearby. you know how it is..."

subin knows how it is. he tells sejun that much as he hurries to make himself look presentable, fixing his hair (desperately in need of a haircut, which means it doesn't look presentable even when combed, but subin tries anyway) and shoving his hand in his pocket, hiding the raw skin of his thumb. he places a hand on his chest; he surprises himself with how jagged his breathing's become, and so he tries to force himself to wind down a little. god, this whole seungwoo thing is stressing him out so badly.

"so what do i do?" he hisses, voice even lower as he hears the footsteps getting closer, getting ready to end the call any second now. "kidnap him from his own home?"

"just go somewhere for the day, subin. the park, the mall—i don't know, just somewhere." sejun then adds, almost as an afterthought, "and not your house."

"no, yeah, definitely not my house. you have no idea how my mom reacted when she learned seungwoo was back in town and i spent the night with him. i don't know what's up with—" a loud noise interrupts him, what sounds like something being dropped and then an even louder swear. "shit, gotta go. thanks for the help, hyung. love you."

"subinnie—"

he hangs up on sejun just as someone walks around the corner, entering the small hallway where subin's been hiding. subin almost expects it to be the owner, yeonghye, who would surely not like it seeing him there. instead he finds a small man with tattoos, piercings, and dyed blond hair carrying two big boxes of supplies. it's obvious that the guy is an employee there because of his dirty green-gray apron, which hurts subin's pride a little. the reason he's been coming to the flower shop for some weeks now is to land a part-time job here. he thought younghye was just deliberately fucking with him when he came here for hours at a time, trying to talk her into giving him a summer job, getting turned down every time even though the sign outside clearly says «now hiring», but that he'd get it eventually. so it stings to see someone else doing the same tasks subin was doing for free, and for what? all yeonghye ever did was tell him she wouldn't hire him no matter how hard he tried. she never even let him take a flower home cost-free to give to his mom. she only treated him to food once.

the guy carries an already irritated expression that turns into pure exasperation as soon as he spots subin.

"you again? i told you, i'm not hiring you." he groans as he puts the two boxes down on the ground, taking the smaller one with him as he walks past subin to the gardening section. "buy a gardenia for your mother or go home."

subin blinks.

what? has he met this guy before? subin's never seen him while at the flower shop, or anywhere else in town for that matter. "uh, excuse me?"

"that's what yeonghye told me to say if i saw you," the guy says, expression suddenly cheerful, the change quick enough to give anyone whiplash. subin blinks at him, then at the hand that the guy sticks out his way. "you're subin, right? i'm hanse. yeonghye said i stole your job."

still confused, subin only shakes hanse's hand out of habit, finding it as rough as seungwoo's is after years of playing the guitar. the difference between them is that while only the pads of seungwoo's fingers are rough, hanse's hands are rough all around, something that subin's seen in his own mother after years of not taking care of her hands—she only recently started doing it, around the same time subin became interested in gardening, insisting he wear gloves even though she's never done it herself.

hanse gives their hands a squeeze and then crouches down on the floor, taking a few of the supplies from the box. it seems to have nothing but a huge quantity of trowels that need restocking. usually, if this were the yeonghye hunched over, subin would wordlessly grab a few and help with the task, but he's at a loss in front of hanse, who stole his job.

"if you're wondering about yeonghye, she isn't here right now," hanse comments. "she's off chewing a distributor's head because of a mix up. oh, she also said—"

the warmth of the blood dripping down his hand goes unnoticed until hanse stares at it with such alarm that subin gets anxious just from it—not his hand, which he must have taken out from his packet at some point, his thumb dripping blood all over the floor, but hanse's reaction to it.

"dude, you're bleeding?!"

"oh—" subin looks down at his hand, immediately putting his thumb in his mouth. it doesn't help; there's too much blood to suck. some of it drips down his lip and onto his chin after he takes it out, wrapping it with the hem of his shirt, using his other hand to squeeze it in an attempt to stop the hemorrhage. "shit, i must have bit it too hard."

"you bit it? god, just— wait here."

subin's left with the trowels and the flowers and his shirt getting progressively more soaked with blood, causing a stain that's probably too bad to be able to be washed off. it doesn't look like much at first, but the cotton soaks up the blood too well, the stain getting bigger and bigger, as if the blood won't stop gushing out. it keeps flowing and flowing, red staining his white shirt, and when subin unwraps his thumb for a second, he doesn't even see the wound—there's just red.

red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red. red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red—red, red, red,

"god, that's bleeding so much." hanse comes back with a first aid kid in hand, signaling for subin to sit on the unopened box, kneeling in front of him to take care of the wound. "i didn't know hands could bleed so much."

"it's not stopping." subin stares at the way hanse attempts to clean some of the blood with a pad of cotton soaked in hydrogen peroxide before wrapping his thumb in a bandage. he half expects his voice to come out sounding panicked, maybe a bit hysterical—you know, shock and all that—but it just comes across as deadpan. as if he's looking at something mildly interesting, the kind of event that makes you arch an eyebrow before you go back to what you were doing. nothing panicked. no terror in it. nothing much in it, in fact.

hanse mutters under his breath, "yeonghye is gonna kill me when she sees the blood." he then wraps the bandage tight around subin's thumb, watching the gauze quickly turn red. "are you okay? you don't seem squeamish about the blood. oh, i would be _so_ freaking out, dude."

subin shakes his head. then he shrugs. then he frowns.

"i think it stopped bleeding."

"already? no way."

hanse still checks, carefully unwrapping the gauze until he can wipe the fresh blood from subin's thumb, dabbing the cotton on the skin around subin's fingernail to inspect the wound.

except there's no wound.

there's no wound.

there's no wound.

there's no wound.


	4. Chapter 4

**04.**

subin wakes up to a cloudy sky and an empty bed, the familiar smell of mint in the air making him sneeze.

"god, you really do sound like a kitten when you sneeze. bless you."

subin grunts a thanks that rolls off his tongue with practiced ease, slowly sitting on the bed and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. seungwoo's bright voice comes from the entrance of the room, where the door remains open at all times for reasons that subin never questions. subin squints at his neighbor's blurry figure until he can make out seungwoo's features more clearly, from his disheveled bluish hair to his warm smile, looking at subin with too much affection, kinda like how you'd look a kitten.

it takes subin a good amount of blinking and a yawn to notice the steaming cup of something in seungwoo's hands, and a couple more blinks for him to recognize it: not the something, but the particular mug seungwoo is holding.

"you kept it," he whispers, and then says it again, louder, staring at the mismatched colors and the chipped ceramic rim of the mug. something about his voice sounds foreign to his own ears.

if there's something wrong with him or his tone, seungwoo doesn't let him know. all he does is cross the threshold and take a couple of long steps towards the mattress, the relaxed expression on his face morphing into a happier one when his eyes fall on subin's mess of a bed hair. seungwoo gives him a dumb smile, teeth barely peeking out from between his lips, and then directs that same smile at the painted mug in his hands. "of course i kept it." seungwoo's voice is warm. "it was my birthday gift when you were like, what, five?"

he'd been six, actually, and chan had been ten when they randomly decided to make seungwoo's eleventh birthday a competition to see who could give him the best birthday mug. no one officially won that contest, even if chan's age should've made him an obvious winner, and seungwoo would often switch between the two mugs to make the two of them happy, refuting chan's claims that seungwoo liked one better if he was seen using it more than the other. seungwoo kept that up until the day chan's mug broke about two years later, and because subin never saw his again, he just assumed it also ended up a bunch of broken pieces of ceramic in the trash. but god, was he wrong.

the colors aren't as vivid, and it has a bit of ceramic chipped off at the rim, but that's his mug. subin could recognize those badly drawn kids on the side anywhere, and the fact that seungwoo somehow kept it all these years in near perfect condition is...

wow. just, wow.

"i was, um, six," he finally replies, clearing his throat when the words come out a little wobbly, passing it off as it being the nap fucking with his voice.

seungwoo smiles and gets closer, kneeling by the floor to carefully pass the mug to subin. it's very hot, the tips of subin's fingers burning as he brings it closer to his lips, taking a sip of—ah, the coffee seungwoo likes so much. mocha. although not that fond of the stupidly sweet coffee seungwoo chugs on the daily, subin drinks some of it, a smile slowly making itself appear on his face as he thinks that, maybe, his hyung hasn't changed that much after all.

it's been a fear of his, something he hasn't been able to shake off even with the time getting used to having seungwoo back. subin knows that the seungwoo in front of him isn't the same seungwoo who packed his bags and left a sobbing chan in subin's care some seven years ago; he's known that since the very first day seungwoo showed up back in town. he probably knew it as far back as three years ago, but it's taken this much for subin to truly realize that seungwoo _changed_.

well, of course they all change. that's just part of life.

but it's been a fear of his that maybe seungwoo changed _too much_. doesn't matter if for better or worse, what matters is that seungwoo changed too much for subin to adjust.

the fear that's been making it hard for him to sleep under his own covers, a house away from seungwoo's idle figure. seungwoo, who at nights is smoking, or writing songs that would end up in the trashcan much like chan's old mug, or whatever it is that he does when subin isn't watching. the fear that, inadvertently, led to subin spending most of his time at seungwoo's napping.

"i was thinking we could do something once you were up," seungwoo starts saying rather cheerfully. "it's kinda late but if we hurry we can catch the next train before they stop running."

"where are we going?"

it's been such a long time since subin's seen mischief so blatant in seungwoo's eyes. they tend to sparkle a certain way when he's up to something, a habit probably adopted from chan, who more often than not would be getting in trouble of his own before gladly dragging the two of them into it. and subin's kind of scared, not knowing anymore what goes through seungwoo's mind, but. god. it's been so long since seungwoo's looked so excited about something; subin can't help but feel that way, too.

seungwoo waits until subin's taken another sip of the coffee before saying, "you mentioned going to the beach a few days ago."

"you said you didn't wanna go, though." subin frowns. "you wanna go now? out of the blue?"

"it didn't sound too fun, but, i don't know." seungwoo shrugs, smile still on his face. "i saw you sleeping and thought, why not? there's nothing stopping us. we could just pack a bag with snacks and leave for the day."

subin's thumb hurts.

his knuckles turn white as he lifts the mug to his face. he takes a few long gulps, letting the coffee burn his throat.

he truly tried his best. refusing to leave seungwoo's side after that day, sticking close while changing the bandage on his thumb each morning, ignoring his mom's concerned glances and his dad's quiet touches of the arm every time he left to go to seungwoo's, both of them clearly wanting to tell him to stay back. he did that because subin wanted to be there for him. he did as best as he could considering the circumstances. he figured, if seungwoo won't talk to him, then the least subin can do is be there for him.

the fact that it didn't seem to be enough just made subin's need to know the truth grow bigger, turning it into an all-consuming fire that burned him from the inside out everytime he looked at seungwoo and seungwoo smiled at him; every single time subin looked at seungwoo and seungwoo had that same smile from all the way back to seven years ago, but with rougher edges now, with a certain _something_ that subin just couldn't place no matter how hard he tried and it made him feel so hopelessly and utterly sad.

the same smile seungwoo wears now.

like a sad patch that you put over a hole in your clothes.

like the bloodied shirt turned into a rag.

like the smile subin wears as he gulps down the rest of his coffee before nodding yes. yes, he'll go to the beach.

  
  


like the suggestion muttered from hanse's lips after asking who seungwoo is. why don't you go to the beach? the park is too hot during the summer, the mall is too crowded—just go to the beach. get in the water and forget about your problems—oh, but don't let the seawater touch your thumb.

  
  


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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** : graphic description of injuries

**05.**

subin naps the whole train ride to the beach.

it's not like he didn't sleep last night—like someone else—but rather that he slept too much, waking up at two in the afternoon wrapped in seungwoo's bed sheets and with his neighbor sitting outside with a cat purring on his lap. they agreed to go to the beach the day before, but, somehow, they ended up spending the rest of the day in seungwoo's room and then falling asleep all curled up on the mattress, subin not going back to his house like he usually does.

it takes everything in him just to keep his eyes open long enough to crawl out of bed; on the other hand, slipping out of the house to sit behind seungwoo and rest his head on seungwoo's shoulders is the easiest thing in the world, especially when seungwoo just hums and lets him be.

"channie would die of jealousy if he saw us like this," seungwoo comments at some point, one of his hands gently petting the neighborhood cat.

subin doesn't reply.

they don’t stay that way for long, not really. at some point seungwoo forces him to eat and then they pack their bags and go to the train station, subin still too sleepy to keep his eyes open for long, leaning on seungwoo for support as they wait for the train to arrive. it’s just the two of them in the lone station, deserted as no one really comes or gets out of the town during this time of the year. seungwoo’s hand rests on subin’s lower back, burning his skin right through the fabric of his clothes.

time doesn’t feel like it exists at this moment, but subin’s still pointedly aware of the height of summer being just past them. one day it’ll end, subin dimly thinks as they get in the train, resting his head on seungwoo’s shoulder as soon as they sit down.

he wouldn’t be able to tell you when, exactly, it is that he falls asleep—just that at some point he’s watching the countryside go by in front of him, and next thing he knows, seungwoo’s shaking his shoulder and calling out his name, saying they need to get off the train. the next few moments pass by in a blur, subin blindly following seungwoo down unfamiliar paths until they reach a white beach with a couple of people hanging around, namely a mom reading a book with her daughter off to the side playing with wet sand; a boy tanning without sunscreen to their far left; and someone in a full bodysuit going into the water with a surfboard under their arm. it makes sense for it to be this empty if you consider how bleak the day looks for a summer day.

the weather doesn’t seem to match seungwoo’s mood at all. he keeps smiling, the weak sun shining on his face and making him glow as he looks at the sand and the huge waves with a glint in his eyes, hand tugging at subin’s long sleeves with eagerness. seungwoo brings him closer to the shore with the energy to match that of a child seeing the beach for the first time.

it's the most alive seungwoo's looked in forever; it warms subin's heart to the point that he thinks he might cry.

but seungwoo’s good mood only lasts up until they’re all set up, their things spread out over a blanket with subin in the middle of it, knees digging into the sand underneath as he sits in front of seungwoo. his eyes are closed, waiting for seungwoo to do anything, literally anything, but some things never change—subin knows his friend well enough to know that seungwoo’s sitting with his tongue caught between his teeth, eyebrows pinched in concentration and hands shaking just enough for subin to feel it in the air.

“this was a bad idea.”

“are you saying that because you’re holding scissors twice the size of your hand or because you’re cold?”

subin can’t help but shudder when a hand suddenly grabs his head, although delicately, to move a good chunk of hair out of the way with the only hair clip they could find at seungwoo’s house: a pink hello kitty one. it’s the only way to keep subin’s bangs out of the way when the salty wind keeps blowing them everywhere, and it’s at this moment that subin partially agrees with seungwoo here—this _is_ a bad idea.

although he doesn't regret suggesting it. there's a few reasons for this: subin being tired of his perm secondary to him needing to find an incentive to get seungwoo out of the house. while the promise of a beach day appealed to their nostalgic side and seungwoo got on board with it after a few days, subin quickly became aware of the fact that seungwoo never really got out of his house unless it was to climb over the tree between their rooms to knock on subin's window and tell him to come over. besides that, seungwoo very rarely bought groceries or even went to the mall or the park to hang out. so subin had to find a way to make sure that seungwoo really came along today.

forgive him for not trusting seungwoo's promises anymore, but it was seungwoo the one who hugged subin and wiped chan's tears away, promising them that he'd stay in touch, only for him to

luckily for subin, all he had to do was add an incentive; something to do while at the beach besides getting their ankles wet in the freezing ocean waves. so with a little whine, “my parents would kill me if they saw me cutting my hair at home,” and a pout—they were all set.

that's how they now find themselves here, back again at their childhood go-to runaway spot on a chilly sunday morning. while at the same beach as always, they're in a more secluded part of it, nothing but houses and a few empty patches of land lining the area instead of the common pubs and restaurants. there's a bag with snacks and a cooler with beer inside keeping the blanket from being blown away by the wind, although subin uses his hands to keep an empty corner from lifting up sand. it's the only thing he can do as they set him up for disaster and an appointment at the only decent salon in town once they make the trip back, seungwoo taking his sweet time before he gives subin an amateur haircut.

“both, honestly,” seungwoo replies at the same time that subin risks opening his eyes. although seungwoo is trying to smile, his hands do seem to be shaking worse than subin imagined. “today’s the coldest day of summer, isn’t it? should’ve brought something a little warmer…”

“but hyung,” subin says,

he says,

“you’re not cold, are you?”

"well, no, i have my jacket to warm me up a little. you, on the other hand—"

he says,

"that's not what i meant."

he frowns, leaning back just enough to be able to meet seungwoo’s eyes, holding his gaze with determination, demanding seungwoo’s full attention for the conversation subin wants to have. the real reason they’re here today.

“it’s not because of the cold that you’re shaking.”

seungwoo pauses, the easy-going smile that he's carried the whole day dropping for as long as he stares at subin. it might have passed as simple confusion for whoever didn’t know him as well as subin did, and yeah, maybe he doesn’t know him that well anymore, but, again: some things never change.

it seems to get more and more difficult for seungwoo to avoid the elephant in the room, the whole act he’s put up—pretending like there’s nothing wrong and subin has nothing to worry about—finally crumbling down, almost at its end. it hurts to see the hesitation in seungwoo's eyes, but it hurts more when seungwoo resists letting it out, still wanting to keep this farce going, still refusing to reach out to subin who so desperately wants to help him. all seungwoo does is hold the scissors dangerously close to subin’s face as the shaking grows worse by the second, but he won’t give it up.

subin, against his better judgment, doesn’t go for the scissors. he holds onto seungwoo’s hands instead, squeezing them between his own in an effort to steady his grip.

it’s only when the trembling stops completely that subin dares asks, “hyung, are you sure about this?”

he isn’t sure if seungwoo picks up on the real meaning of his words, of what subin truly wants to ask and yet can’t because he fears that seungwoo won’t let him. it’s only like this, holding seungwoo’s cold fingers ( _seungwoo's hair is blue and his hands are ice cold. subin fears that if he were to look at them, he'd see purple fingertips and rotten black nails._ ) and looking straight into those dark brown eyes, that subin allows himself to hope.

maybe things will be alright, if only seungwoo gets what subin means.

“don’t worry,” seungwoo ends up shrugging it off after what feels like forever, smile back on his face, paining subin greatly. “hyung’s got you."

it doesn’t take much for seungwoo to free his hands from subin’s now weak grip, moving the one hand that isn’t holding the scissors to cup subin’s face. seungwoo’s smile is as gentle as the way he’s cupping his cheek, looking at him with eyes filled with warmth and a hint of fear, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by subin. and he gets it—subin gets it. he truly does.

it still hurts.

“hyung’s got you, okay? you have nothing to worry about.”

even if seungwoo says it like he really believes it, it doesn’t feel like the words are directed at subin anymore. still, subin nods.

seungwoo seems pleased by this, giving him a little nod back and making a show of steeling himself before he goes back to what they came to do: trying to cut subin’s bangs. subin, now with his eyes wide open, is able to notice how seungwoo’s hands don’t shake anymore, although subin’s do start to tremble under his too-long sleeves. he can’t help it; he’s so cold.

he keeps his eyes open, looking at the way seungwoo’s long fingers curl around the handle.

he keeps looking for as long as possible, not wanting to miss a single detail.

he doesn’t close his eyes until the first snip.

and yet, even though he’s trying to burn this scene to the back of his eyelids so that he may draw it once they’re back home, none of it sticks. the only thing that subin can focus on is the coldness of his cheek, the feeling of seungwoo’s fingers against it somehow burning without feeling hot at all, and subin wonders if he’d get that same feeling if he were the one to touch seungwoo.

he wonders, his mind easily getting lost in the possibilities: if he were to run his hands over seungwoo’s thighs and feel the flesh through the fabric under his fingertips; if he were to then climb on seungwoo’s lap and press his hands under seungwoo’s top, slowly rising it until his hands slid all the way to seungwoo’s chest, resting them there as if trying to feel seungwoo's heart beat against them; if subin were to leave open-mouthed kisses on seungwoo’s neck as he did all this, kissing a trail up to that little spot behind seungwoo’s ear, wanting to see if seungwoo liked it, and maybe seungwoo’s neck would be cold, too

( _seungwoo's hair is blue and his hands are ice cold. subin looks at them, fears coming true as he notices the disgusting black of his fingernails, some of them broken and showing rotten skin that would otherwise never see the light of day. subin now fears that if he were to touch one, they’d fall right off._ )

maybe seungwoo’s lips would be cold as well.

he opens his eyes, finding seungwoo squinting at his work, seemingly trying to decide if he did good enough to show subin. the final verdict is obvious in the way seungwoo smiles wide enough to show teeth, eyes glinting with pride as he says, “heh, what’d i tell you? man, i could be a hairdresser.”

“what? no way.”

seungwoo gasps, making subin smile in the way he so obviously exaggerates his offense. “you don’t believe i can do a decent haircut?” seungwoo shakes his head, hand reaching towards one of the bags, pulling his phone out and unlocking it at once. “strike a pose and i’ll show you.”

subin snorts as he throws a peace sign at seungwoo’s camera, switching it for a kissy face when seungwoo just keeps taking pictures. it feels good, this small moment of careless fun between them, the tension that’s been weighing down subin’s shoulder gone for a short while. it may be a little insincere with how heavy his chest feels right now, and he’s not surprised to see his eyes darkened with something he hopes seungwoo doesn’t notice when he looks back at the pics (his hair does look decent, believe it or not). but still, it feels good to be able to laugh with seungwoo like this.

he doesn’t want it to end.

he wants to do more for seungwoo, to keep the smile on his face.

(he wants to warm him up.)

he calls seungwoo's name, and when seungwoo turns to him, subin does the only thing that goes through his head at the moment. he shifts on his knees until he’s closer to seungwoo, even closer than before, maybe just a few centimeters between them, enough for them to be breathing the same salty air. but subin pushes further, climbing on seungwoo’s lap, holding seungwoo’s gaze as he puts his hands on seungwoo's neck, feeling seungwoo’s heartbeat pick up.

“hyung,” subin says again, and if seungwoo’s gaze ever wanders from subin’s eyes and falls on his lips, subin doesn’t mind. “it looks great. it’s exactly what i wanted.”

“subinnie?” seungwoo lets his name slip out with a bit of confusion in his voice, mouth agape, probably dry. he’s like that, but his hands find subin’s waist with ease and they stay resting there as if that’s where they belong.

“let me thank you properly, okay?”

he can feel the blood flowing under seungwoo’s skin, most certainly warm, but everything about seungwoo feels freezing cold anyway. maybe not to anyone else, but to subin it does. and subin wants to change that. he wants to wrap seungwoo in the blanket and hide him from the cold wind, or maybe kiss him senseless until every bit of his skin feels hot to the touch.

he tries to lean in, to get rid of the short distance between their lips, but seungwoo turns his head at the very last moment. subin’s lips connect not with seungwoo’s lips but with the corner of his mouth.

seungwoo lets out a shaky breath. he says, “hey, you don’t need to do this,” and he sounds a little breathless. “i’m doing it as a favor. you don't... need to do this.”

“i want to do it, though.” subin blinks. “do _you_ want it?”

and seungwoo can’t say no right away.

and normally that’d be enough for subin to back off. he knows how to take rejection, would never try to force anyone into doing anything they don't want to, seungwoo being no exception—but seungwoo’s hands are gripping him tight enough to leave bruises under his shirt, and subin can’t move even if he wanted to. he’s stuck, having a front-row seat to witness the internal struggle clear in seungwoo’s body, in seungwoo's beady eyes, desperately wishing for seungwoo to just _give in already_.

is this not enough? what else does subin have to do to _help_ seungwoo?

“hyung, _please_ ,” subin whispers, still so, so, _so_ close, lips almost brushing against seungwoo’s. he’s practically begging into his mouth, able to feel seungwoo’s grip get tighter with every word. “let me thank you. let _me_ take care of you. i know you got me, but who’s got you?"

that person is not subin—not yet, not if seungwoo won’t let him—and it’s certainly not heo chan anymore. it’s not anyone else that subin can think of, no one being that close to seungwoo, not like how subin and chan are (were?). subin has no idea if seungwoo has anyone outside the town; seungwoo’s never mentioned any university friends, never mentioned a roommate or anyone from work or anything like that. and it’s making subin worry himself sick, thinking of seungwoo having to work through whatever’s made him come back here all by himself.

subin worries, his mind an utter mess because of this, often falling asleep out of exhaustion after staying up for hours on end just thinking about seungwoo. he’s tried to unravel the mystery that followed seungwoo back into town, but all subin’s accomplished is to fuck up his sleep schedule, which is why he’s grown desperate enough to beg.

on his knees and with his mouth merely millimeters apart from seungwoo’s, subin begs.

“please,” he implores.

he cries,

" _please_.”

and seungwoo kisses him.

it feels as if subin's finally managed to snap seungwoo’s resolve to carry everything on his own, even though he knows that’s not true. he knows this the very moment seungwoo stills against him, what should’ve been a kiss that would end with the them two flush against each other, hands all over their hot skin, seungwoo eventually falling on the blanket with subin on top of him—something passionate with teeth and tongue and maybe a few tears—

it doesn’t happen.

instead, seungwoo merely closes the distance between them, lips barely gracing against each other in what could barely be considered a kiss, but it’s one all the same.

subin truly feels like crying.

“hyung,” he whimpers, and it sounds almost like an apology to his own ears, although he has no idea what seungwoo hears. he just feels heartbroken, the hands that had been on seungwoo’s neck now clutching desperately at the collar of his shirt. subin wants nothing more than to smash their lips together but seungwoo doesn’t move at all, even though he still holds onto subin like a lifeline, and yet—

seungwoo kisses him again.

and again.

and again.

it starts with quick pecks, something to shut subin up, to swallow the apology—or whatever the _fuck_ seungwoo chooses to see when subin opens his heart up—and end whatever words might come out of subin’s mouth in this moment of confusion. it doesn’t register in subin’s brain that seungwoo’s kissing him time and time again, more properly each time, until he has seungwoo sucking on his lower lip. until it’s seungwoo the one who’s begging for subin to move.

it takes only one tug at his lip, caught between seungwoo’s teeth, for subin to do so.

he notices, almost as an afterthought, just how impossibly soft seungwoo’s lips are, tasting the chapstick he put on this morning.

“subinnie, are you cold?” seungwoo asks in between kisses right after swallowing a moan. his hands slide under subin’s shirt, not feeling like anything, just rough when his fingertips press into the skin of his waist. “you’re freezing."

  
( _it's not seungwoo but subin whose hands are slowly turning into ice, frostbite eating away at his skin, his bones, freezing his blood and his nerves and muscle and it'S͝ not̵ se͘u͠Ngwoo̷ but ̨sųb͢in͘ who̵e͜s͘ han̢d̸s͠ ͞a̢re̛ ̴slo͝wl̛y ͜t̡urn͜i͘n͘g inn͜t͟o i̧c̴e,̨ ҉f͡r͠o͝s͢t͟bi͟te e͡ating̷ ̕awa͏y ̴at͢ ͏hi͢S ͏k͜s͞in,͞, h̸is͝ b̛o̕n.̵.es, f̨rree̴zing҉ h҉is b̡ol̡od̴ ̨and͠ h̴i͟sn̡ erv̡e̕s a̢nd ͠musclE and it'S͝ not̵ se͘u͠Ngwoo̷ but ̨sųb͢in͘ wh;o̵e͜s͘ han̢d̸s͠ ͞a̢re̛ ̴slo͝wl̛y ͜t̡urn͜i͘͘ng inn͜t͟o i̧c̴e,̨ ҉f͡r͠o͝s͢t͟bi͟te ee͡ating ̷̕awa,,͏y ̴at͢ ͏hi͢S͏ k͜s͞in,͞, h̸is͝ b̛o̕n.̵.es, f̨rree̴zing҉ h҉is b̡ol̡od̴ ̨and͠͠ h̴i͟ns̡ erv̡e̕s a̢nd ͠musclE and itS' ͞ņo ͝t s͘eųNg̨w͏o̧o b̕ut usb̡in ͏wḩ;̧o̷e̶s ͠͠ah ̷nd sa̡re ͝s͢lowl̶yy ̛t͘u̷rn͏ing in͡nto͝ ͝ic̶e͡, f͟r̵ostb͡i̕te ee̡a͞ting͝ ͞awa̛ ,͜,y ̶at ͡ihS ks҉i͝n,, ͠hįs ̷b on.̷.e͢s̸, ͜f͡r̡re͞e ̧z̷iN͞g̷ ̡h͞i̸s͘ b͏o͘lod and̡ hii̴ns̷ e͜rves̢ a;;̧nd m͘usc͜lE a̴n͏d͢͢ it,'͜S ̛no̸t͢ ̵s̶e̡u̕N͏gw̷oo͡ ͢bu̶t,̡, s̕u̸bin w҉h;o̢eş ha,,nd̢s̢ a͘re sl͜o҉wly ͏t̸urNin͘g ,,҉in҉;͘;n̢t̢o̕ ice, f̢r͟o͡s;̸;btite̵ ̡ee̸a͞ti͜nng ̶a͞w͢.̴a,̧,y ͘a҉t hiS ̵ks̕in,͠, hi̕s͠ bơn..e,s͜,͞ fr͞re͝ez͜i͞i,ng̕g h̕i̶s̸ ̵bO͝lo͢d ̸n͠ḑ,a ̛hi̴n͜s̸ e͟;̧;͏rv͞es͝s͢ ͡a͝nd ͏mu͠s͏c̸lE͜ ̕and it'͟S ͘ no,͘t ̴s̶e͞uN.͜gwwoo̸ but҉,͜ s̨ư,bin͡ wh;͜;o;e s͜h̴han̷,ds a̷.re s͘lo̶w,̧ly t͠u̵rnI͢n̶g͏ i͢n̴,,n͏t͝o ic͘e̴,͝ ,̵f͘R͠o͝st͜bit͡e͡ ee;at͞i̧n͜g͠ ͡ąw͝a͢,̶,y ͞a̵,̡,̕t hiS̢ ͟k̷s͏,i̴n͝,,͘ h͘įs;̨;̶ n͢.̢.͟.͠Es.͢.̨,̡ ͟f̢rre͜;̡;ez,͝,̛i̕n͡g͝,, h,,̛is.b ̛ ̵o͟l̶o,,d̕ a͡n ͝d ̶hi͟n͢s er;̴ves ;̡;͟a̢n͘d ͜mu̷sc͢l͟E a̷n,͞,d it҉'̢ S,̛,̧ ̢;;̡n̵o ̸t̨ ͠Su͢e,,Ng͜w͢o̸o bu ͜t͡ ̡s͠.̷.u͠bin̷.. ̧w̨h;͟oo͠o,͡e̵s͝ ̶ha̧Nds͘s͠ ͞a;͜;̨r͝e҉ s͝l̢,owl, y̕ tu̸rr̕n̸ni̸g ͟ inntt̸oo͡ ice̡, f̢ro̴..s͟tb͜;͟b̶,̕i͏t͜;҉;̴te ͟eeaa̧,͟ting̴ ҉aWa,͏..̛,͏y.͘ ͜,̢,a ͘t ͠hh͝Sik͏ si̛,̵n̶, hi͟i,͞s ̛bn. ̡..e͞,̢ rf,̷,҉ree;̴;z.̧i͟n;g ͠hi. ͟b..olo͏d a̡nd ,͞ h҉i͠,̛s,n;̴; ,,̧e;͝r̴r҉ves͘ ͢a̡nd ̡m ͝uscl̸E͠ ̨ ͞ ̕a͞;̛d i̢.͘.̕it''̶S̡ ̕;̸ N. o; ͢s̛;;͜e̛ ͡ u͞Ng̷w̸o͡o o͝bu;;t̵. s̡ub͢;;i͘n̡n̶ ̧ ̸wh; ̧o͝o͢..̷,,̨s.͜e ͡ ͢HAn̡d͡.̷d .҉.̧saa͜,re̶ s..͏s ͟ow̸;̧;͏w̶l͟..y ̧ ,,t͝t҉;҉;͝u,r̴nni͡ ̴ gi ͞n͏..n̢t͜o͢ ;;i̢,i̧c͡,,ce, ,̷fr͞ơs̛s͟Ţbb,̶,i ̡i҉ţ;E͠,,͠ ̧ee͘a͞a̕,̕t͘iN͜ ͜ N͡gg ,, ,a w.a ,̵, ͏ a͟a t ,,h̨iS͡S ̶ ̶ĶsK ̵ Ki͞nn͟,,,̷.,͡ ͞ih̷; ͝bo͢n..;̡;̕es,̡ F͡,̧,͡R͜re.̷.ez̴i ̧ ̛n̷;͞;̡. ͟,,h͟i͢i̡,҉,̢s;͟;͜;͡ ,͡,bOl ͝ ͝od ; an̛d,҉.̨.͟D̴ ̛ ̴hi̶ ͠nn͜ss.̨e ;̶;̸v͟r͜re̸s̴s͞ a n͡D ͜.͠m̨;uu͢s̷sc E̸ ͟andd ,i,̢..;;͘.̕̕iTT;;.̶S ̸̡̡̕N . o; .͢ss̛,;;͜,͜e.e̛ ͡ uu͞ngg̷w̸OO͡o o͝b;,,u;t̵. ss̡ u,,b͢;i;.͘;nn̶ ̸̧w; Ḩ̧oo͢͝...̷̷,,s̨̨.͜e.e ͡,͢ HnA̡,,d,͡,.̷d .҉;.,.̧̧ssaaa͜,r.e̶ ,̶.....,,͏s ..͟ow̸;;̧̧,,;͏,w̶̶l͟.. y̧̧, ;;,.t͝ t҉;; ҉;,,͝u;;,r̴n,,ni͡.̴ ;; g..I ͞nn͏.;;.n,̢,t͜o,,͢; ;,,;.;,i̢, i̧c͡,,,ce,; ,̷FRR͞oos̛̛;;s,Ţ͟b,b,̶,i ̡;i;҉̧t;E͠,,..̧͠ ;;e.ea͘͞a̕̕,;̕,,T͘IN ,͜͜N;;͡ g ,,g ,, a ..w.,a, ,̵ ͏. a..a͟a, t ,;;,hh ̨iS͡͡SS ̶ ;̶Ķ.sK.. ̵ K;;Ki͞͞n,n͟,,,,,̷̷.,͡; ͞Ih,,;̷,, ͝o,B..͢ n..;̡̡; ̕;;,,ess,̡ ,,F;;͡,.,̧,͡R͜;͜ Ree.̷ . e;;z̴i ̧ ̧; ̛..n̷;͞;;̡̡,,.,, ͟, h.,,,͟i.͢;;i̡, ҉,,,,s̢,;.͟;;͜͡ ,͡,b;O l ͝ ͝,,od;; AA;;̛d, ҉.̨̨.͟DD̴ ̛ ̴hhi̶; ͠nnn͜,,͜s..ss̨.ee ;̶;̸̸͟rv͜r,,̸,,ess,̴ss͞ ;; ;;a.. n n͡;͡ D ͜.,,m ̨;Uuu͢s̷E ;;̸ ͟;aN,dd .I̢;̢,,....;;͘̕,,,T,''̶̶S;; , ;̕;̸,̕ ..N ,,. ;;.oo;; ͢;;͢s̛;,;;,,;͜,,͜ ̛E E; ͡ u..͞NN̷̷,wo̸͡ ̸o ,,O,͝o;;o,,b;,;;,tt̵̵.... ..s u..̡.b;;͢;i;,,;..͘;;n̡,̡.̶ ̧̧ ̸ww;; ̧;;o.͝;;̧..O;;͢.;;.;̷;;,,, , ̨S.,S..͜ee ,,͡ ͢͢HA,naa,,̡d d͡͡.. ̷D .҉...̧s,a̧ A A͜ ͜.,r err̶ . .. ..͏ ͟ow ̸̧;;;͏w͏,,͏̶ ̶l;;l͟ ͟..... Y,,̧ .y,,;;͝t҉;;҉҉;҉҉͝ ͝u,,R̴,n̴̴in;n͡,͡ ̴. ,, gI.I ,, ͞n,͏n;;..;;n.t̢ ,,͜O͢,͢ ;,;;;i̢,.i.;̧;c͡͡,;; ,,E..E ̷,,,,f;;͞o ̛͞,,̛,s̛.̛s,͟s..ş;̧..bbb,,̶,̶,,,,II ; ,̡ ҉;I..̧TT;..e͠ ,,,,͠;, ̧ee;;e͘͘͞A;a̕A;;A̕,;,..͘i;N͜;;͜ ;; n;;g͡͡g;; .,,, ,aa,w ..,a ;;̵,,,,͏ ; , ,A͟,a, ͟t; t,, ,h,h̨,,,iSS͡S͡͡,̶ ̶;; ̶,̶Ķ;;sKK,;k ̵̵;; II ͞NNN;N͟,;,,,,,,.̷.;,;͡͞ ii;H,̷;;;;; ͝͝b;on͢,,͢;.;.̡, ; e,,,s̡̡ f͡;;͡,,,̧ ,͡;.,͜RRRR,e.,,.̷ ̷.ez̴̴i .. ̧. .n̛ ̛;;̷;;;;..͞ ̡. . .. .,,.,,h,͟͢I̡,,i,,҉,҉, ,̢ s;͟;,,; ͜;;; ;͡ ,͡, b͡..͡O,Oll;; ͝ ͝. O;;O,,; ;a ,,;;n̛d̛,,̛,,, ..... .̨͟,,̨,,̴DD ..̛; , h.i̶̶ ,,͠..nn͜͜s,,S,,.̨E, ;;E;;̶̶;̸v;r͟,,͟͜,,͜r;re,e̸..̸s,s;;̴ ͞s ,, ..an͡,D,, ,; .͠..m ;,̨,u..U͢s͢ ̷͢;̷s c E;;E ,,a͟nn d dd..d_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** brief mention of suicidal thoughts

**06.**

"whatcha reading?"

seungwoo's voice doesn't startle him this time, something that subin's very happy about. even though his pulse still speeds up the moment he catches sight of his neighbor sneaking in through the open window, taking off his shoes—necessary to climb the tree between their houses—before lightly stepping inside subin's room; but it might not be because of seungwoo's surprise night visit. this has happened a few times in the past two weeks, and subin actually had a feeling seungwoo might show up tonight, so it's not really that shocking.

it's something else that makes his pulse speed up, heart beating like crazy against his ribcage. if he were to blame it on something, subin would say it's because seungwoo simply looks too good with his dark green hair—evident even in the low lighting of the room—on top of everything else: how he's all dark clothes, brown eyeliner, messy green hair, and a dazzling smile sent subin's way.

"ah, this—" subin looks down at the book, its title escaping his mind at the moment. "it's, uh, something a friend gave me."

falling on his back at the end of subin's bed, seungwoo smiles at him under half lidded eyes. "oh? was it that guy, uh... sejun?"

subin nods after seungwoo guesses the name right, mouth suddenly dry as his eyes fall on the silver of skin shown when seungwoo's shirt rolls up. his eyes snap up just as quickly, maybe hanging for just a second too long, but still fast enough that subin can feign ignorance.

although seungwoo's smile stays lazy and unknowing, it might just be his way of sparing subin of the embarrassment of getting caught staring.

he clears his throat, forcing his eyes back on the book. "oh yeah, no, actually— i told you about sejun, right? he has these yearly trips to seoul—he goes there to study under prestigious tutors over the summer, attending seminars and such. he's been away for a month now."

seungwoo's eyes close as subin explains, humming softly after subin's done. he looks really pretty like this: lit up by subin's bedside lamp and what moonlight comes in through the open window, curtains gently flowing with the night breeze that chills the room in seconds. seungwoo looks kind of like a cat, stretched out over subin's covers like that—a stray cat who comes and goes as it pleases. yeah. yeah, that's seungwoo. even though subin isn't sure of what seungwoo's doing here. a cat would ask for food, maybe a place to take a nap, and seungwoo does ask for those, usually—but there's always something else. a hidden motive that may not have brought him back to subin's side during the summer, but it's certainly kept him here this long.

or maybe there's nothing at all and seungwoo just likes it by subin's side, simple as that.

"sejun's a med student, isn't he? he's so smart," seungwoo comments, the words floating inside the small room and dissipating into the cold night air like smoke. (seungwoo smells of smoke.) "i had this classmate—she also tried pursuing medicine, but dropped out and then became a songwriter. she said the third year is when things start getting real hard."

subin perks up at the mention of the classmate, but he has to hold himself back, knowing the conversation isn't going that way. seungwoo usually makes it so that any talk related to his time in university is kept to the bare minimum and never leads anywhere, something subin soon learned after just a few days with seungwoo back again living next door. he could still try to stir the conversation into _she_ 's direction—god knows he's tried pushing things before—but he's sure it'd get a bad result, and tonight is just too nice to make the two of them upset.

he decides to stick to sejun. "yeah, sejun kept complaining about how hard things got, but honestly i could barely follow along when he was pre-med. did you know med students spend an average of fourteen hours a day studying? and that's without taking into account things like tutoring. it's crazy."

seungwoo whistles slowly. "damn. what year is he now?"

"fifth." subin takes a moment to remember if that's right, but no, yeah, it has to be; subin's sure that sejun's getting through clinical experience now. "he spends most of his time at the hospital when he's in town, but seoul has all the latest tech, y'know? that's why sejun keeps spending his summers there."

it sours subin's mood a bit, thinking about that: the fact that sejun keeps going to seoul, always coming back all wide-eyed, literally starstruck, going on and on about how cool everything is there; how the big hospitals there look nothing like the old thing the town's been making do with for the last century; how he'd kill to work at a place like those in the heart of the city; how he's been thinking of moving there to do his residency, already making dreamy sighs at any teaching hospital that looks halfway decent to him. it brings down subin's mood more than just a bit. it's because the moment sejun starts talking as if he's already decided on going away, subin gets reminded of how every person in his life has done the exact same thing, and he can't take it anymore. it's so lonely here already, so for his best friend to leave too? he doesn't want to think about that.

he also doesn't want to think about how the person that started it all, the one who left and had everyone following suit, is back—because it still doesn't feel like seungwoo is _back_. not really.

seungwoo's previously relaxed expression is disturbed by a small frown as he mentions the thing about studying for so many hours a day, eyes lost as he squints at the ceiling. "that's insane." he murmurs, "that's so much worse than—"

seungwoo cuts himself off with a sigh.

subin just shrugs. "yeah, well, it's to be expected."

he can't say that he goes back to reading after that, but seungwoo falls eerily silent and subin knows better than to try to keep talking when the mood is like this. so he lets the subject drop, eyes back on the book on his lap, glancing over words without any of them really registering in his brain. but here's the thing: maybe subin's keeping his eyes on the book, but all of his attention is focused solely on seungwoo—on the way he's still spread out on the mattress by subin's feet, shirt slightly rolled up, arms under his head and lips apart as he takes deep inhales and exhales through his mouth.

here's another thing:

they haven't kissed since that day at the beach.

subin doesn't know why; it just never happened again. although neither of them has brought it up, it hasn't been completely ignored, either: every time they look at each other subin would remember the taste of burnt tobacco that stuck with him that whole day, and every touch would linger, fingers never wanting to stay away from the other for long.

it's only a matter of time before they kiss again—subin knows this like he knows the sky is blue or that his fingernails are still in place. but nothing seungwoo does is ever predictable; who actually knows what will happen? just like how the memory of seungwoo some decade ago and the seungwoo on subin's bed right now, how those two memories clash, seemingly impossible to reconcile, they still exist at the same time. and so maybe subin will keep all his fingernails and never get a taste of seungwoo's chapstick, or maybe he and seungwoo will kiss and the sky outside will turn a bright red and signal the end of times.

anything could happen inside the walls of their rooms.

subin dares lift his eyes from the page he's been at for who knows how long, sneaking a glance at seungwoo, surprised to find his neighbor already looking at him. subin quickly turns back to the book, but it's too late—he can feel seungwoo smiling, not feeling like sparring subin anymore.

"you've been staring at that same page for a while now." seungwoo grins. "is the book that good that you can read it over and over again?"

subin replies right away, not missing a beat. "oh, yeah, it's excellent. hanse has good taste."

"hanse? that the friend who gave you the book?"

subin hums, the small nod that he gives making him dizzy for a moment, the idea of hanse and the book gifted to him so far from his mind right now. can you blame him, though? seungwoo uses that moment to move closer to subin's side, awkwardly letting his long legs dangle off the side of the bed as he stares at subin with an obnoxiously attractive smirk on his face. he looks good—like, really fucking good—and subin's brain isn't wired to handle something like this.

the seungwoo from half a decade ago was handsome, there's no denying that, but subin felt nothing for him back then. not even the teenage crush you'd expect when he constantly looked up to seungwoo, someone already in college who looked so mature and dreamy—subin didn't even feel something as common as that, not for seungwoo or for anyone else.

but this seungwoo—the seungwoo whose eyes look deadly under the warm light of subin's lamp—looks straight up _deadly_. and subin has a right to die however he so desires.

he inhales sharply and nods his head again, losing track of things for a second. staring at seungwoo, thinking of things like the past and the present, unable to picture a future but hoping for one all the same, subin zones out for a moment. when he comes back to himself seungwoo is shaking his leg with a soft laugh, telling him to read the book out loud if it really is _that_ good.

subin hasn't even read it once, but saying no to seungwoo is something that he's not very good at. the same goes for seungwoo; their relationship is one of mutual indulgence. without chan in between them to offset things a bit, subin finds himself taking a quick moment—something truly quick, just to feel the texture of the pages underneath his fingertips and the cold air gently caressing the bare skin of his legs; to enjoy seungwoo's gaze falling heavy on him; to admire seungwoo's long eyelashes and ignore the ever present eyebags under seungwoo's eyes—before he begins reading the first paragraph of the page.

" _at the library_ ," he starts, " _i flip through magazines first_."

he doesn't particularly mean for his voice to come out this softly, not even realizing he's basically whispering until he pauses at the end of the following sentence. he takes a peek at seungwoo as his finger plays idly with the border of the page, breath catching at his throat when he notices the utterly warm look on seungwoo's face.

subin used to see the same look all the time years ago, and he saw it again at the beach. the crinkles around seungwoo's eyes that he gets at times like this, subin is so familiar with them that he could draw them from memory and not miss a single one.

" _of all the articles, the interviews interest me the most. if i’m lucky, i find clients in them._ "

it's such a familiar look, the one on seungwoo's face right now, but subin is aware that seungwoo used to wear it particularly during the times the three of them were together. seungwoo, chan, and subin. three neighbors—subin and seungwoo living right next to each other, chan two streets away—growing up together in a town forgotten even by the ghosts that inhabit it. a town that, when chan went on some famous tv show and got asked where he was from, and he said the town's name, everyone in the panel had the same expression that made it obvious what they were thinking: _where in the hell is that?_

" _reporters, armed with middlebrow, cheap sensibilities, hide my potential clients’ characteristics between the lines._ "

chan also wore a similar look at times. a look that he saved for seungwoo, just for seungwoo, and only at the moments where he was sure seungwoo wouldn't notice it. but he never cared to hide it from subin.

it was always the three of them, and then it was only chan and subin, and then subin was all alone.

and then seungwoo came back.

he doesn't realize he's holding his breath until seungwoo moves, all kind eyes and gentle hands, coming to sit by his side. subin closes his eyes when one of seungwoo's hands cups his cheek with the lightness of a feather, thumb pressing on his bottom lip as seungwoo whispers, "breathe, subin-ah."

subin breathes. "i'm not done reading."

seungwoo's other hand grabs the book and takes it from subin's hold, setting it aside on the bed. "you can tell hanse," he speaks right against subin's lips, "that his taste in books sucks."

seconds pass with nothing much happening; they just sit there, subin's breathing a bit rougher than seungwoo's, and stare at each other's lips instead of their eyes. subin could tell seungwoo that he actually likes the book hanse picked out for him; he could also keep reciting the book on his own, the next sentences still fresh in his mind: _they never ask questions like, 'have you ever felt the urge to kill someone?' and obviously they never wonder, 'how do you feel when you see blood?'_ but that's as far as he can recall, the rest of the paragraph getting lost in the hot air between them, as if sizzling out of existence.

he wants to ask those questions just because. his thumb itches as he ponders over whether or not to ask them, wondering how seungwoo would react to them and if he'd answer truthfully or not. but he doesn't get the chance when seungwoo decides to finally lean in, attempting to shorten the distance between them, lips chasing after subin's in a way that subin could've never imagined actually happening.

while seungwoo leans in, subin leans back until his back rests against the wall.

he does this while fighting every part of his body that just wants to kiss seungwoo; to push himself flush against seungwoo's chest and run his hands through seungwoo's hair with every intention to mess it up, wanting to see if it really is as soft as it looks.

instead, he breathes out, " _hyung_ ," and waits until seungwoo stops looking at his lips to continue. "hyung, why did you come back?"

it's impossible to ignore how absolutely _broken_ his voice sounds, but subin still tries. just like how he's ignored how lonely he's truly felt all these years and how painful it is to have seungwoo back without him truly being _back_ —how it tugs at subin's heart and makes him want to walk into the ocean with rocks in his pockets; for his feelings to be washed away by the waves and his unshed tears to mix with the seawater. he fails magnificently at attempting to ignore the cries of his heart, but he doesn't even try with the way seungwoo tenses up at his words. seungwoo attempts to play it off by leaning in again, and again, and again, not knowing that each time he forces subin to shy away from the kisses he's pushing subin further underwater.

they need to talk about this, though. they should've while at the beach, but subin let himself be swayed by the irresistible charm that seungwoo has (you could even call it a spell that subin's always been under) and failed to make any significant progress, unless you can call his tongue down seungwoo's throat progress. so they're going to talk now whether seungwoo wants to or not. subin needs it, and seungwoo probably needs it just as much.

it gets to the point that subin has to put his hands against seungwoo's chest to stop him from trying his hardest to get away from this conversation.

but even then—seungwoo still won't meet subin's eyes.

so seungwoo resorts to pleading. "subinnie, please." his voice sounds just as broken as subin's, as if what subin's asking of him is something that seungwoo can't physically do. "let's not do this right now."

"when, then? because i waited long enough. i waited five years to hear a word from you and then i waited another three after you promised, _again_ , that you'd talk to me, and then it never happened. why do you always break your promises, hyung? why does it feel like even though you're here, you're not really _here_?"

"subinnie..."

seungwoo shakes his head as he implores with his eyes for subin to stop, but all it does is light a tiny flame inside subin, something that for once isn't blue like his sadness but red-hot and fueled by anger. just why won't seungwoo use his words? why won't he _talk_? the silence stretches between them until subin feels like crying. oh, how he hates this. he fucking hates this. he hates being left in the dark, of course he fucking does, but he straight up despises how he has to _beg_ just for seungwoo to throw him a bone—and he still gets nothing better than fragments that aren't any better than cremated ashes. it's so pathetic for the two of them, and yet they know nothing better than this.

isn't it always like this? subin begged that day at the beach for seungwoo to let him in, too.

he begged three years ago.

he doesn't want to beg anymore.

but if seungwoo won't fucking _talk_ then what else is he supposed to do? kissing the answers out of him clearly won't do it.

(even though some part of subin still wants to try. to swallow the pleas and forget about the unshed tears in their eyes and just grab seungwoo by the neck and kiss him. to kiss him, and to bite him, and to push him against the mattress for subin to straddle him with ease. to get rid of the dark clothes and to smear the brown eyeliner and pull at his green hair until he gets something else out of seungwoo: a whine, and then another plea, not for subin to stop but for him to _keep going_. to make a panting, moaning mess out of seungwoo right there on subin's bed. oh, how many times has subin dreamt of doing that? ever since his first time with byungchan, subin's been plagued with dreams where he fucks seungwoo senseless, and at the end of it, the only thing seungwoo can do is smile at him with that _look_ —) 

"seven years." subin desperately wants to voice all the thoughts that are running wild inside his head, from the hurt and angry ones to the daydreams that he can't keep at bay; however, the words that come out of his mouth are, "seven years is a long time to be gone, hyung."

when seungwoo finally looks subin in the eye, the only thing subin sees there is pain much older than today. the same pain that's been weighing down seungwoo's shoulders and making those dark circles appear under his once youthful eyes. and subin knows he can't take that pain away, so he ignores it, focusing instead on the way seungwoo's fingers are loosely wrapped around subin's palm, thumb gently caressing the back of his hand. he has no idea when it is that seungwoo grabbed it.

"i know." seungwoo slowly exhales, his voice sounding so defeated. “██ ███.”

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“i dropped out of university.”


End file.
